


new in disaster

by elizabethelizabeth



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Physical manifestations of demonic traits, Slime, Trypophobia, curious angels being curious, demonic aspects, every hundred years or so crowley just languishes you know how it is, mofu bingo 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/pseuds/elizabethelizabeth
Summary: Aziraphale comes upon Crowley quite on accident, intrigued by what he finds.PROMPT: Slime/Goo for mofu bingo 2021
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: MoFu Bingo 2021





	new in disaster

**Author's Note:**

> the trypophobia tag is v light, there as a precaution
> 
> also the azcrow is hardly there, but I'm me and it has to be there it's the law

**1434**

Aziraphale found him in a secluded castle one hundred kilometers north of London, but he hadn't exactly been looking for Crowley. He had stumbled across the castle and, subsequently, onto Crowley's aura; distinctly demonic because of the sense of dread and the dusty odor of decomposition. Aziraphale couldn't help but mentally correct himself, though: decomposition in the most earthly way possible; akin to the mushrooms that grew where the soil was moistest, like an earth that had grown new in disaster. 

Aziraphale had to investigate why Crowley was seconded in a decrepit castle. The investigation would look good on a report. 

Instead of secluded in the highest tower, Crowley was languishing on the stone floors of the front hall, where God and anyone could have seen him. Foolish, probably, because of the bandits. Dangerous, even more so, because of his...presence.

Aziraphale had never seen Crowley like this.

Humanoid in that he had limbs and fingers and that too-long torso of his. Barely clothed save for sheer black linen wrapped around his body in an amalgamation of a toga (approximately thirteen-hundred years out of date, very unlike the demon). Lying in a pool of dark water, he had to be freezing. The night was settling into its apex.

As he stepped closer, Aziraphale noticed that, no...it was not a pool of water.

He didn't know what it was.

Very suddenly, Crowley sat up, not at all surprised to see Aziraphale standing there. "Eurgh," he said, if not coherently then at lead loudly. "Come back in ten years, angel. I'm awful company right now."

"I rather think that's the whole point. You're not supposed to be _good_ company." Aziraphale moved closer as he talked, snapping a soft globe of light into existence to better see Crowley's predicament. Crowley winced, hissed, so Aziraphale dimmed the light further. "What...happened?"

"What, this?" Crowley flung out an arm, and instead of splashing into the pool it...sunk. Hit the substance with a dull thud and then crept up his arms, a meniscus betraying the surface tension of whatever substance Crowley has either summoned or succumbed to. The not-water was black and blue, if a bruise were paint upon stone, with a sheen like lantern oil on water the colors of some infernal rainbow. It did not so much as ripple when Crowley disturbed it with his gesturing. "This is normal. You remember Hastur? With the toad and the boils? S'a part of his 'demonic essence'," Crowley said the latter part with a distinct Aziraphalean inflection. "And this is a part of mine. The snake thing, primarily. But every couple hundred years or so I just kinda...ooze. No snake shedding for me, just me lounging in my own fluids."

Aziraphale wanted to grimace, felt as if he probably should, but his curiosity was too great — a flaw so distinctly human it should have shamed him. He knelt at the edge of the pool and leaned far enough over it that he could see Crowley's arm. What the demon said was true: the fluid seemed to seep from his very skin, beading and then sliding down to join the rest in slow, viscous droplets. Aziraphale watched the proceedings in silence for a while, then turned his head towards Crowley's face and his bemused expression. "Is...how demonic is it? Would it affect me the same way holy water affects you?"

"Nah. Doesn't hurt for you to touch me, does it?"

Aziraphale blushed. Crowley did also, beneath the slick that cascaded down his cheek.

"Can I..." Aziraphale felt his tongue grow heavy in his mouth, dumbing down his words and, by extension, his meaning. He lifted a hand (his dominant right) above the pool. "Can I touch it?"

"You fascinated by me, angel?" Crowley teased, a little breathless.

"Yes," Aziraphale answered, quickly and softly and honestly. 

As soon as Crowley nodded in assent, Aziraphale lowered his hand. He had been expecting the liquid to be as cool as the stone he knelt on, so he was surprised at its warmth. This is from the depths of hell, he reminded himself. Or, perhaps not. Crowley has always run warmer than most, more than anyone else that Aziraphale had physical contact with. It should have come as no surprise that the secretion matched its owner in temperature. And temperament, too. The slick had a mind of its own, it seemed, sliding slowly up Aziraphale's fingers and wrist, seeking out the angel's own warmth. It wasn't possessive, though; it was almost an automatic response, a reaction to stimuli. Like flowers that open for the sun, this satanic substance seeks out the sun-strength of an angel. 

Aziraphale slid his hand forward, Crowley's essence allowing the movement with no obstruction. It felt...good. Teased at the spaces between his fingers, slid over his knuckles as the pool deepened around him.

He came within touching distance of Crowley's forearm.

"And...?"

"Please."

His fingers slid over Crowley's skin, just as warm. With his thumb, he displaced the slowly seeping essence, watching as it bubbled to the surface afresh. 

Crowley shivered.


End file.
